Ren Crowblade
by LegendsofKorrigans
Summary: The Chosen Undead arrives in Drangleic to realize that some things have changed. For example, a simple, strange accident from long ago appears to have set in motion events that he never suspected could come about. As he journeys through the dying kingdom, someone is running about in the foreground, seemingly always one step ahead of him, and with a mission of their own...


_Drangleic was dying._

 _Its castles rubbled; its citizens hollowed; its king lost. All seemed hopeless. But Shanalotte was a patient woman._

 _She knew times such as these would produce heroes. She only had to wait._

 _She would not be disappointed._

 _For by some miraculous chance, on the very day the Bearer of the Curse remembered himself in the Things Betwixt,_

 _They came from the East, bringing fire, determination… and heroes._

* * *

On the edge of the world, a man, ten feet tall at least, looked out at the drake-filled sky, and the grand keep below it. His white crown, adorned with soft, featherlike shafts, rippled in the wind. In his left hand he held a massive spear tipped with a sword-like blade, which crackled with energy. His face was calm, appraising the scene before him as if it were commonplace; even so, he radiated barely contained power, seeming ready to spring into battle any moment.

To his left stood a black-clad boy, his feathery cloak, cold eyes and taloned feet reminiscent of a crow. At the boy's side was a strange rapier, bladed and shining faintly, and in his hand he held a gnarled catalyst. He, too, seemed prepared for anything, though he exuded no tangible force.

To the crowned man's right was a lady dressed in white, a dress which seemed to meld with her almost-as-white skin. Her body bore several abnormalities, including purple tendrils sprouting from her neck and a white, furry tail. In her hands was clutched a deadly-looking scythe, from which emanated another kind of power; not as evident as the crowned man's, but bearing with it a primal terror, something deeply unsettling.

The lady's name was Yorshka. The boy's name was Ren. The crowned man had no name. Each of them was among the most dangerous people in the world.

And behind them was a group of men, women, and grey wyverns from a foreign land. The men and women each held a weapon of some sort; some twirled catalysts or clutched chimes. The wyverns scraped the ground with their massive claws and snorted smoke. They were itching for battle.

The boy spoke, a grin creeping onto his face: "Well, your majesty? Let's not disappoint them."

The crowned man looked down at the boy, who was less than half his height, and returned the grin. "Ay, let's not." Turning back to face the group, he slammed the shaft of his swordspear against the ground and said, "Mount up." In a few seconds the entire crew, save the three, had climbed onto wyvernback and stood there, awaiting further instruction.

Over the edge of the cliff on which the three stood climbed a strange wyvern: four-horned, with blue feathers in place of scales, four wings and a bird's beak. It let out a hoarse cry and bent its head. Nodding respectfully, the crowned man took a standing leap and alighted on its back. Letting loose another cry, the blue beast took to the air like an arrow, and the man on its back hefted his spear and roared.

"SKYWARD!"

The earth on which the company stood nearly crumbled as several dozen wyverns exploded upward, their combined wingbeats scattering dust in every direction. Through the commotion, Ren bowed and offered his hand to Yorshka. " May I, Milady?"

She giggled, curtsied and took the proffered hand in her own. "By all means, thou rogue." The two of them then stepped off the edge of the world. They fell for a second, before their feet met with the back of a wyvern. This, however, was not like the others. While each of the wyverns were massive, this one would have towered over them, a giant even among its own kind – so big it hadn't fit on the land they had been standing on and had to hover underneath it.

Quickly steadying himself, Ren gripped the fur-like strands on the wyvern's neck and shouted merrily, "Come on, Aengus, let's do this!" A thunderous roar answered him, followed by the beating of wings that could have blotted out the sun, bearing them towards the Dragon Aerie. As they flew, Ren's grip on his catalyst tightened and his grin widened. He felt no fear, only adrenaline and fire in his blood. He looked behind him to make sure Yorshka was okay; this was unnecessary, as she maintained her balance with remarkable ease, her scythe poised to strike.

And then, they were overlooking the Aerie, and Aengus folded his wings and dived, prepared to execute the task he had been preassigned.

With a great thudding noise, the huge wyvern tackled another out of the sky – the so-called guardian dragon, which had been on its way to defend the Aerie. The noise as Aengus ripped the drake apart was horrific, and even battle-hardened Ren winced at the brutality of it. Letting the pieces of the guardian dragon fall to the distant earth, Aengus flew upwards, to his second destination. As he did so, Ren dove from his back, plummeting towards the stone floor of the Aerie. While falling, the boy threw out his cloak, which caught the wind and slowed his fall. Aiming carefully, Ren landed on a drakekeeper's shoulders like a bird of prey, his taloned feet puncturing the man's collarbone and inflicting mortal wounds.

He flipped off the knight's shoulders and fell into a ready stance, putting away his catalyst as wyvern-fire scorched the earth all around him. Two drakekeepers, noticing their comrade's death at his hands – or rather, his feet – rushed him, greatswords raised. In a flash, the boy flicked his rapier forward, slicing through a chink in one's armor, then whipping around to cut the other's throat. He finished the first drakekeeper off with a thrust, and twisted through the air away from another's greatsword. He engaged the remaining dragon knight in a fast duel, overwhelming him with blinding speed and precision, and then darted off through the mayhem, vaulting and flipping over any obstacles.

Faced with a sheer wall, Ren's eyes narrowed. Flexing his talons, he charged the wall, leaping at it, digging in with his talons, and proceeding to sprint up the wall, leaping from one sheer surface to another, quickly making his way to the top of the Aerie. A drake attempted to snatch him off the wall, but was briefly astonished by the boy back-flipping onto its tail and streaking up its body before ramming his rapier through its eye. Leaping back to the wall, Ren passed over one last wall to behold a battle worthy of legend taking place.

The Nameless King, astride the blue stormdrake, was flying around a titanic… _dragon_ , Ren realized, his eyes widening in awe as the stormdrake nimbly avoided a huge blast of flame. The Nameless King, his face stoic, discharged a lightning bolt into the dragon's face, cracking one of its horns off. It merely shrugged off the attack and answered with a swipe of its tail, which, too, was dodged by the faster stormdrake. The dragon seemed reluctant to engage its foe in the air, and Ren knew from experience that it was because, due to its lesser maneuverability, the King and his drake would soon send the dragon crashing earthward.

Aengus had no such fears. Surging over the edge of the dragon's arena-like lair, he lunged forward, puncturing the dragon's hide and dragging it forcefully across the arena into the wall – the wall on which Ren stood – before taking flight and joining the King in the air. As the structure wobbled, Ren leapt away, into the arena… with an angry, hundred-ton dragon.

Sword drawn and ready, Ren sized up the monster as it shook bricks off its back and faced him. _It won't be the first dragon I've fought, will it?_ He thought, remembering and instance hundreds of years ago: a desperate battle in a sewer against a colossal aberration with a gaping mouth as a stomach. That monster, he thought with increasing calm, was far more frightening than the one that stood before him.

As he thought this, Yorshka gently leapt up onto the dragon's back and, drawing back her scythe, cleaved one of its wings clean off before rolling to the ground.

As the dragon roared in pain, the Nameless King and his drake let loose a massive lightning bolt, right onto the dragon's back; Ren, drawing his catalyst, charged and sent forth a crystal spear, forged of the fabric of his own soul, lancing it into the dragon's chest; and once this was done, Aengus lunged once more, seized the dragon's neck between his gigantic jaws and, with mighty heave, broke it, nearly tearing its head off in the process.

Though the battle between the wyvernriders and the drakekeepers raged on below, the three, Aengus and the stormdrake now stood silently, watching in wonder as the dragon's corpse turned to dust, leaving behind a small, floating light.

The five of them remained there, silent save for the drakes' breathing and the sounds of fighting further down the keep. Eventually the silence was broken when Aengus let a rumble issue from his throat, as if to ask, "Well?"

The Nameless King, seeming to return to reality, stepped forward and lifted the orb, scrutinizing it as it floated inches above his palm. He didn't gaze for long, as the sphere dissipated into light and flowed into his mind, leaving him blinking in slight confusion. Ren cocked his head, also not understanding, but resolved to think about it later as Yorshka disappeared over the edge of the arena, back to the melee below.

He followed suit, fearlessly leaping into the void and plummeting like a stone. Once again his cloak softened his landing, and he gazed out at the scene. The resident drakes and their keepers, though fierce, could not match the organization and ferocity of the wyvernriders, and only a few of the defending force remained. Like a windmill of death, Yorshka was mowing through the warriors, slaying one with each stroke. Ren joined her, adding his relentless blur of swordplay to her deadly scythework, and soon there remained only four drakekeepers, standing back to back with their swords aimed outwards.

The Nameless King landed, barely flexing his knees from the impact, and looked upon the remaining guardians with calm, authority, and just a hint of kindness.

"Keepers of the Aerie," he intoned firmly, lowering his spear, "Your brothers have perished; the drakes you guarded are dead; the 'dragon' you venerated has been vanquished. You are skilled warriors, all, and now you are purposeless."

He spread his arms welcomingly.

"Join us. We wyvernriders seek to overcome the undead curse by uniting the three lost crowns, and then we shall rebuild this broken kingdom of Drangleic. A cause more noble than standing guard for a false dragon. Won't you come aid us, and be heroes when the new kingdom arises?"

Three of the drakekeepers began to lower their swords, but the fourth snarled under his helm and pointed his weapon at the king. "We have heard grand promises such as yours before. Whether this kingdom dies or lives, we have taken oaths to Lord Aldia. Our words are bound in iron. He is a being of power far beyond what you could conceive." He angled his chin up tauntingly. "Finish us, if you will; you'll never stop our master."

He charged, and made it two steps before Ren sliced his stomach open. As he fell to his knees, Yorshka slashed off his head, spun her scythe and hopped back to stand beside her leader. The other three knights threw their weapons down, tugged off their masks and knelt. "We may be bound," said one of them, a middle-aged man with a hawkish nose, "but oaths are of little value in a land where nothing else but souls hold merit." He grinned, spitting out a tooth that must have been knocked loose during the fight. "We'll follow you, purposeless as we are. Be aware though, that our master might return to reclaim us."

"I doubt that," the king said, his eyes hardening. "He knew we were coming, yet he didn't warn you. I can't imagine you're of any use to him anymore, if such is the case."

He raised his spear once again, and shouted to the wyvernriders. "The Aerie is ours!"

Cheering broke out among the undead men and women, and the wyverns roared fire into the sky. It was a total victory; not one loss on their side, and any surviving enemies had been subjugated. They were now in possession of a fortress of a base, from which they could easily conduct their missions thanks to the bonfires throughout. Now at last, the work that had taken so long to prepare for could be carried out.

To this end, the Nameless King leant over to Ren, who looked up expectantly.

"Now, my friend, to the Iron Keep; I've heard rumours that it might house a crown."

"Rumours?"

The king smirked ever so slightly. "When has the absence of proof ever deterred you?"

Ren returned the smirk and brushed off his cloak. "Fair enough. Aengus!" The behemoth of a wyvern crawled over a nearby cliffside and bent his head, waiting as his rider scrambled up and sat behind his huge twisted horns. Ren looked down at his king, who offered him a broad smile, and at Yorshka, who mouthed the words ' _be safe_ ' to him, and blew him a kiss. The boy winked, adjusted his mask, and then he was gone, rocketing into the distance with Aengus's joyful roars echoing in his wake.

The king watched until he was just a speck in the orange sky. He then beckoned to his wyvernriders, turned and began to ascend the steps of their new home.


End file.
